


Light and Shadow

by LittleDarkling



Category: Leverage
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:21:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleDarkling/pseuds/LittleDarkling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of the Ponzi job, Eliot is forced to confront some things from his past</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light and Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters belong to Rogers, Downey, Devlin and Co. This is a work of fan love. No infringement is intended, no profit is made
> 
> A/N: Changed the title. Thought this worked better.

It’s raining. Not hard, just a light shower. Pattering softly on the roof, rivulets running down the panes of the large windows. Eliot sits on the couch, idly flipping channels. He’s not looking at the screen, the images passing before him in a blur of colors and lights. He’s dressed in a thin white undershirt and boxers. Goosebumps crawl across his skin. Alec likes to keep the flat cold and Eliot’s current attire hardly provides any protection, but he doesn’t notice the chill now.

     Tonight was the first night that they had not had sex after a job. A fight with an Armenian assassin would usually be enough to send Eliot into hyper-drive when he got in the door. Alec loved it. As much as he enjoyed pinning Eliot down and teasing him with lips and tongue and fingers until the older man begged, he liked it when Eliot got in his face, when the sex was just a little rough. Eliot enjoyed it as well, especially after particularly brutal fights. He liked to see Alec come undone, to use his strength to inspire pleasure rather than inflict pain. But tonight...if he had touched the young hacker tonight, he knew he would have hurt him. Alec would have screamed for him and it would have been far from pleasure. It was why he had told Alec not to wait up. The younger man had given him a concerned look, but he had not pressed for an explanation, for which Eliot was grateful.

     After he ensured Randy was safe with the US Marshal, Eliot had driven up into the hills, along a stretch of road that overlooked the city. And he stayed there. Mostly, he’d listened to radio, hoped the music would push aside the voices of the past that had suddenly become a cacophony vying for his attention. He’d tried not to think on the things that damn job had pulled up. Things he’d worked damn hard to shove down, to keep down. At some point he’d gone digging in the back cab for a CD and found the _Star Trek_ jacket Alec had left there some three months back when he’d persuaded Eliot to come with him to see the new film by the same name. Eliot had begrudgingly admitted that he had liked it. The new cast, the effects, Zoë Saldana in a short skirt… After the movie Alec had wanted to go for drive. They had ended up in the empty parking lot of a nearby mall, sharing the remainder of Alec’s box of cinnomon candy. It was then that Alec had gotten the brilliant idea to down a handful of the spicy candies and chase them with a stick of spearmint gum. When Eliot had asked what he was doing, Alec’s response was to push him back against the door, unzip his jeans and proceed to give Eliot the most mind-blowing blowjob he had ever experienced; the combination of peppermint and cinnamon in Alec’s mouth leaving his skin tingling long after he had come. The memory of that night, the memory of the hacker’s bright smile and his laughter and way he looked at Eliot—a look that somehow always managed to make him feel like all was right in the world—made his chest ache. He crushed the jacket beneath his nose, inhaling that familiar scent and cursed inwardly when his vision blurred slightly.

     He had hoped Alec would be asleep when he returned. Mercifully, the flat was dark, the multiple screens of the hacker’s computer turned black. Alec had left the hall light on, for Eliot to navigate his way to the bedroom. It had hit him then that this was the first time in nearly six months that he and Alec had not gone to bed together (not counting the odd job when they sometimes had alternate shifts). He found the young tech sleeping soundly in nothing but a pair of _Gundam Wing_ boxers. Eliot had stripped down to undershirt and boxers and crawled into bed, with as much delicacy as possible, to avoid rousing Alec. Of course, almost as soon as he settled, Alec had abruptly turned and cuddled up against him, throwing one long leg over Eliot’s and his hand moving to curl against Eliot’s chest. Even with Alec’s soft even breathing in his ear, he been unable to sleep. The ache to draw blood, to inflict pain had still been there. Finally, after nearly an hour of lying in the same rigid position, he untangled himself from Alec—who had made a soft noise of disapproval, but gone on snoring—and come out to the living room.

     It is nearly four in the morning now. On a normal day he’d be up in two hours for a run. Return at seven and drag Alec’s lazy, whining ass out of bed. Shower, sex, breakfast, work. Not necessarily in that order. But he’s not thinking about that now. This reality is beginning to fade before his eyes, becoming paper-thin and through the fragile membrane that remains, he can see the shadows of another place that he was so damn certain he had escaped. Those days before he left home, they seem like a different life now, not his own. For a long time he’s managed to treat his memories of that time like artifacts in a museum, separated from him by a thick impenetrable glass. Nothing gets in, but nothing gets out either. Since this job, it feels like the glass is cracking and Hell is seeping out, coming together in a twist of remembered rage and pain and hate. He’s so far lost in his own thoughts, his own memories, that the creaking floorboards completely escape his notice. Eliot’s head jerks to the side as he catches movement on the periphery of his vision. And he thinks it’s a damn good thing he doesn’t have a penchant for guns. Alec comes shuffling out of the bedroom, comforter wrapped around his lean frame, one corner dragging along the floor. He falls somewhat clumsily onto the couch beside Eliot. They don’t speak for a long time. Eliot continues to flip channels, never settling on one for very long. After the sixth round in which he rapidly clicks through seven hundred channels in a sharp, successive rhythm, Alec reaches out and takes the control from his hand. He turns off the television throwing the room into darkness, but for the skimpy moonlight falling in through the windows. Silence falls over them. Eliot stares at his hands and Alec’s gaze remains on the blank screen. Finally, he asks,

"Who was it?" Alec’s voice is deeper than usual, roughened by sleep.

"Who was who?" Eliot replies tersely. He doesn’t even try to keep the sharp edges out of his tone.

"Who was it?" Alec repeats. His voice is quiet, with no trace of wariness or hesitation. It would figure that Alec picked up on that. Eliot’s distraction, his preoccupation with the forlorn child with the cast on his skinny arm and the bruise on his face.

"My father," he mutters at last. That is all he says. Eliot has no idea how much time passes, in which they just sit. He expects Alec to eventually say something, anything. But he is met with silence and an expectant gaze which he can see out of the corner of his eye. Alec touches his hand then. It’s a gentle contact, his long, dark, graceful fingers with keyboard-rough calluses tracing over Eliot’s. He turns his hand and Alec’s fingers walk across his palm. It tickles. He swallows stiffly and draws his hand back.

"My mama died when I was ten and he couldn’t cope. He was military, a real hard-ass. She used to tease him about it. Back then, he used laugh. No matter what kind of mood my old man was in, she could turn it around with her smile. But after she died…he just turned mean. Real mean. I looked like her—my mama—but she always said I was just like him. I dunno if that’s what bothered him so damn much. Just a reminder of everything he’d lost and a piss-poor version at that. Mama was…she was everything to us, to him, and without her…we didn’t have nothing in common. I wasn’t the son he wanted and he wasn’t the father I wanted." Eliot bows his head, picking at his cuticles in the darkness. "First time he hit me, I cried and he hit me harder. That’s how he dealt with everything, really. If I cried, or got a bad grade, snuck a snack before dinner, or broke somethin’." Alec’s fine-boned fingers slide between his before he can draw blood from his cuticle. Eliot doesn’t attempt to curl his fingers around Alec’s, afraid that if he did he might squeeze until something snaps. "This one night when I was fourteen, I snuck out to a show. It was me and four other guys. We got trashed as hell on the way home. I climbed up the trellis, came in my window and my old man was standing there." He chuckles humorlessly. "I was so damn drunk, took me a minute to notice. But there he was, standing there in the shadow, big-ass belt with the hard silver buckle in his hand. Damn near twenty years and I can still remember just how the moonlight caught the edge of it. He, uh…" Eliot swallows, the sound is deafening in the silence of the room. "Beat me until I bled and then he put the belt around my neck and he tightened it." Eliot’s words are coming out through gritted teeth. "Kept tightening. I couldn’t even make a sound, it was so tight. And he said, ‘if I thought to disobey his command again, he take me out and shoot me like he would some mongrel dog’." Eliot swallows again. His throat feels dry, stuffed with sand and cotton. "That was the last time I took a drink in my life." Beside him, Alec’s breath is soft, but shaky. "Until I turned nineteen and left that house for good, every time I faced myself in the mirror, all I saw staring back at me was fear and mistrust and…hopelessness. No one who ain’t been through it themselves can see it, or understand it, but…" He sighs. "It was the way Randy looked at me. Like he could just recognize it on some instinctual level." He’s surprised when he feels Alec’s hand against his face, smoothing the fall of his hair back.

"Eliot. Look at me." Eliot’s jaw tightens and his gaze remains downcast. Alec’s fingers slip down to catch his chin and gently, but firmly turn his head. Eliot sighs and finally looks up, meets his friend’s—his lover’s—dark eyes. "You know you not your father’s son, right? Tell me you know that." Eliot doesn’t say anything. "Eliot, tell me you know that."

"You know what I do for a living. I know there is this thing inside me that wants out and it feels like I’ve spent half my life fighting a battle with it and I’m losing," he says through gritted teeth. "You wanna know why I’m such a control freak? This is why! Because the minute I let this thing get away from me, I’ll turn into a man I don’t want to be. I’ll hurt the people I love. And I can’t…damn it, Alec, if you know how close I came to that tonight, with you and I couldn’t fucking live with myself if—" He’s caught off guard as Alec shifts forward, closing the distance between them and pressing his lips to his in a chaste, but lingering kiss. Surprised, Eliot melts into it briefly, but then remembers exactly why he came out here, why he left their bed.

"Stop," he breathes. His hands are on Alec’s narrow shoulders, but he can’t make them push him back. Because Alec is what Alec is: he’s warm and stubborn and infuriatingly optimistic and familiar and completely, shamelessly tactile. To Eliot, he represents what home was supposed to be then, what it is now. So he lets himself reach for Alec, his large hands framing the younger man’s face as he draws Alec closer, as his lips part to deepen the kiss. The kid tastes clean and sweet, like honey and mint and Eliot finds himself seeking the taste, a little desperate and hungry. Alec shifts his weight, pushing them into the butter soft faux-leather of the couch. The comforter drags over Eliot’s bare skin. Alec’s thumbs stroke over his cheeks and they’re rubbing moisture into his skin. Eliot doesn’t remember crying. It’s one or two tears, but fuck all, did he really cry? The embarrassment he should feel is quickly forgotten as Alec’s lips brush his eyelids, the bridge of his nose.

"You don’t gotta trust yourself, El," he murmurs. "I trust you." Eliot chokes on his next breath, his fingers dig into those strong wiry muscles. He doesn’t know how he got here. How he went from being a man who always worked alone to being part of a team. He doesn’t know how he went from thriving on isolation to _needing_ one person so badly. There’s been some part of him that’s been waiting for Alec to leave since the first time Eliot’s lips touched his. He doesn’t know what the kid sees in him, because Eliot’s belligerent and stubborn and tactless. And Alec is brilliant and relaxed and charming. On the job, they don’t even speak the same language. Alec speaks in binary, microchips and processors and operating systems. Eliot speaks in movement, in blows and the breaking of bone, of trajectory and blades. He has the brief thought that it would be better for them both if Alec left. Because he could deal with that. Better to know Alec’s safe, than ever let any harm come to him. Because he _needs_ Alec to safe. Safe from the world outside, from the people they go after, from the forces of nature and fate. From him. He holds the long lean body against his, wanting to feel Alec’s heartbeat steady and sure against his own.

"Right here," Alec says quietly, but firmly. "Not going anywhere." And it might actually unnerve Eliot how intuitive Alec is. This socially awkward techno geek, who can’t figure out how to shoot straight even with a bulls-eye and a laser sight, can pluck the thoughts from Eliot’s head as easily as if he can hear them voiced. Alec’s body glides gracefully against his as he brings their lips together again. Their boxers don’t make much of a barrier; Eliot can feel Alec harden against him and his own arousal stirring in response. He is still unsure of himself. He can feel the desire for violence like an itch, just beneath the surface of his skin.

"Alec…I’m not…I don’t…" He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say. Alec presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Soft, like Eliot is something fragile.

"I trust you." Alec’s fingers twists in Eliot’s undershirt as he draws back to give Eliot some room.

"Take this off," he whispers. As much as he taunts Alec and bickers with him on the job, in private, he’s never been able to deny the kid anything. Eliot manages to sit up just long enough to pull the undershirt over his head. Alec is pressing him back down before he’s even untangled it from his hand. He casts the material aside and takes the hacker’s round face between his hands again. They kiss in a hot, brief series. Alec’s fingers stroke along the waistband of Eliot’s boxers, two fingers slipping just beneath in a wordless request. He kisses Eliot’s chin and then his hands are moving up to brace himself on the headrest and the armrest of the couch. Alec raises himself up, giving Eliot room to get his boxers down. They end up bunched just below his thighs, but it doesn’t matter. Alec’s long, serpentine arms tremble with the effort of holding his position. Eliot’s hands slide down his back, pushing at the waistband of his boxers. His eyes don’t leave Alec’s face. The kid is so damn beautiful. His dark skin gleams in the silver of the moonlight, his dark eyes turned nearly black by the shadow and the way he is looking down at Eliot just might break him. He gets Alec’s waistband over the curve of his ass and then the younger man drops, lowers himself onto Eliot. They flow together slowly. Alec moans softly when their cocks slide against each other, hard and slick. Eliot’s hands stroke over the long sinuous line of his back, the firm swell of his ass. Alec kisses him as he begins to move in slow, languid thrusts. His bare, utterly smooth chest rubs against Eliot’s and tomorrow he knows Alec’s skin will be sensitive from rubbing raw against Eliot’s chest hair, though admittedly he can’t help but the feel a possessive thrill at that. Eliot frames the narrow jut of the younger man’s hips between his hands, loving the feel of the movement, the slow, elegant glide. He pushes his tongue between Alec’s lips, caresses the inside of his mouth and is rewarded with a deep groan. It’s getting hot beneath the comforter, but Eliot wants to sweat it out, he wants Alec’s heat and his scent. The young hacker moans softly into his mouth, needy, desperate little sounds. He grinds down, slow and dirty. Eliot hisses, his fingers tightening on Alec’s hips. Everything is beginning to fade around him. For the first time since his confrontation with Randy’s abusive father in the stairwell of the hospital, Eliot’s mind is not trapped in the past. All his focus is on the beautiful lean body in his arms. The scent of Alec wraps around him, the scent of sugar and heat and the musk of arousal. Eliot growls an obscenity against his lover’s lips. He doesn’t know what he says, couldn’t remember even if he was pressed. Doesn’t matter. Eliot’s hands move over the slender expanse of Alec’s back beneath the comforter, fingers dragging through the gathering sheen of sweat. His cock throbs between them, the friction maddening and perfect and—Alec ceases movement suddenly. He draws out of the kiss, leaving Eliot feeling instantly bereft.

"Alec…?" Eliot murmurs. The young hacker shakes his head.

"I can’t do this. Not like this," he mumbles, pushing back. Eliot looks at him in confusion.

"Not like…like what?"

"Com’ere." Alec is tugging him into a sitting position. Movement is hindered by their boxers, but neither is interested in separating to fully remove them. Alec kisses him again, warm and soft and reassuring, and then he’s pulling Eliot down. It occurs to the older man then, what Alec is trying to do. He wants to resist, to say ‘no’ and maybe Alec can read it in his eyes, because he tilts his head up to occupy Eliot’s mouth with his own before any objection can escape. He lies down, squirming until he finds a comfortable position. He adjusts the comforter around them, tugging Eliot into the cradle of his hips, thighs drawing up against Eliot’s waist.

"I trust you," Alec whispers. "I trust you." Eliot is still resistant, but Alec is not letting him go. His body is so hot beneath Eliot’s and his eyes, black in the shadow, are watching him, holding him.

"Eliot, I want this," he says softly. They look at each other for a long time. Eliot swallows stiffly.

"Don’t...don’t let me hurt you." Alec’s smile is soft.

"I won’t," he promises. Eliot shifts forward, their cocks rubbing together and Alec gasps. It’s slow at first, achingly slow. He’s forgets about the fear and the pain. About the thing inside him that wants to feed on blood and anguish. All there is Alec’s soft panting breaths and his eyes boring into Eliot’s as if he can see everything that he wants to hide. And Eliot is stunned to realize, that he will happily give up everything, abandon every shred of dignity and defense, and lay himself bare. Alec only has to ask and everything that is Eliot’s will be his. His fingers dig into the faux leather of the armrest behind Alec’s head as he begins to put more force behind his thrusts. He knows he’s got it right by the way that Alec arches and moans, throwing his head back against the armrest. His name is born on a sob. He watches Alec’s face as he manipulates the lean body to his will. Fuck, but the kid is beautiful. Pupils blown so wide that his eyes are almost black, lips parted to allow every gasp, every wanton moan and cry and whimper to escape. Sweat trickling down his face, gathering in the hollow of his throat. Eliot’s skin stands out in such sharp, stunning contrast, so pale beside Alec’s dark tone. Everything they are is contradiction. It may be that this thing between them sustains because of the differences rather than in similarities. Alec is the brains because Eliot is the brawn. Alec is the optimist because Eliot is the cynic. Alec protects Eliot from the turmoil of his own mind, so Eliot can protect the team. An overwhelming sense of possession seizes him. Before he can stop himself, he’s growling, ‘mine’ as he drives himself against the man beneath him. Alec’s back arches, head thrown back, his fingers digging into Eliot’s forearms as he mewls. Eliot bows his head to kiss the younger man’s chin, nip at the corners of his mouth.

"You are…ahh…a good man, Eliot," Alec gasps against Eliot’s ear. "You...mmm…You sav—fuck, El…you saved me. You save me." Eliot isn’t sure if the sound that escapes him is a laugh or a sob. It figures that Alec would retain the wherewithal to say something like that in the middle of sex, but it means all the more in this moment. Alec trusts him. Right here, right now, even with Eliot’s weight pushing him down into the cushions and Eliot’s hips, shoving inelegantly against his own, his faith is unfailing. An obscene guttural moan vibrates through Alec. One hand reaches down to clutch at the firm curve of Eliot’s ass, urging him to move harder and faster. His other hand tangles in Eliot’s hair and he tugs his hair back, directing Eliot into a filthy kiss. Alec’s hips start to jerk frantically; he’s close. Eliot’s hand curves over his thigh, tugging his leg higher as he grinds down, twisting his hips in that way that makes Alec breathless when he’s inside him, fucking him deep. That’s all it takes. Alec comes with a harsh cry, heat splattering between them. Eliot forgoes his last vestige of control. He moves hard enough to push Alec further up on the couch. Alec’s still shuddering through the aftershocks of his own orgasm and his grip is weak, faltering on Eliot’s sweat-slick skin. Eliot buries his face in the curve of his lover’s shoulder, biting the muscle. Alec is panting his name, only his name over and over again as if it is all the young hacker can think. He comes with a muffled roar, pinning Alec’s hips roughly.

Eliot slumps, gasping against Alec’s shoulder. They’re both breathing hard. He can feel the younger man’s heart thundering against his own, chest rising and falling beneath him. Eliot thinks briefly of the life he escaped when he joined the military. And the life he has now. He can’t escape his nature, but he can control it. He only needs faith. And for the first time in his life, it’s not his faith alone that is holding him up. Long fingers comb through his sweat-damp hair, comforting, lovingly. He feels Alec press a soft kiss to his hairline. Eliot’s never been good at saying what he feels, so he lifts his head and kisses Alec. He pours everything into it and hopes, hopes that he understands. He feels the younger man’s lips curl into a smile.

"I know, baby. I love you," Alec says softly.

 

End


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